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The Spare Tee

I don’t play golf often.
No matter how careful I am
Before putting my clubs away,
Afterwards I find one tee in my pocket
With knife, pen, coins, and keys.

Several days later, finding no
Worldly use for it and weighing
The effort fighting my way to
The garage-bound bag,
I place it in my desk drawer,
The one with mini-sprinkler heads,
Bolts, odd-size screws and a little
Plastic chunk that fell from
An old printer.

It’s a kind of purgatory for small items
Waiting for a time of reunification,
Like all those things I meant to do,
But didn’t, while seeking resolution.